


Recovery

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-15
Updated: 2005-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A recovering Justin story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Author's Note: I did this in response to a challenge on 'No Turning Back', so I hope that whoever put it up there likes the way I've taken it.

* * *

There's an incessant buzzing in my ear, but I am not quite awake enough to figure out what it is. When my mind defogs and I open my eyes, I see the sun streaming in throughout the loft. The clock next to me reads little hand at seven and big hand at three, which means that it's too early for me to be up. When the noise ceases I slam face down into the pillow, smelling Brian's cologne, and drag the covers over my head to block out the light. I take a deep breath in, slowly exhale, and feel myself falling swiftly back to sleep.

I'm awakened again by that damn buzzing. My eyes pop open; I'm beyond pissed. I drape the covers over myself and follow the sound, which leads me to the kitchen counter. My cell phone jumps sporadically with each beat of the vibrator.

I snatch the phone and flip it open. "What?" I growl.

"Morning, dear." Brian says with a chuckle. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I've been up for hours." I sarcastically reply and roll my eyes. I make my way to the fridge hoping to find breakfast, but alas Brian feels that food is overrated. "What are you calling for?"

Brian doesn't say anything, so I repeat the question.

"Some shit in the art department screwed up the boards for the noon presentation with Gerhard Consumer International. I need you to bring the hard copy from my computer, so that we can fix this mess."

"Brian, it's seven in the morning."

"I realize this, Sunshine," he says with a tone.

I'm too lazy to make fresh coffee, so I use the leftover from this morning and heat it in the microwave. "Why didn't you just come and get it yourself? I was sleeping."

He doesn't answer, which isn't the best of signs. "I'll be there within the hour." I hang-up the phone and tend to my coffee.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After taking a shower, changing my clothes, and making a quick stop at the diner for breakfast, I'm finally off to the races. It's my day off from work and school, and Brian knows that. He's just choosing to be a shit about it right now, complaining to me about the time I'm taking. Well, if he'd gone shopping I wouldn't have to stop for breakfast.

I'm chatting with Brian on my cell, trying to reassure him that I'll get to the office soon, when it happens.

I hear it all before I actually realize what's happening. The screeching of tires precedes the distinct smell of burning rubber. The popping sound that fiberglass upon fiberglass creates. The crunching of metal and shattering of glass. 

I hear it all.

There's smoke coming from all around me. People watching, gawking at me through shattered glass and twisted metal. My head hurts. At least I'm right side up.

I'm resting my head on my arms, which are splayed over the steering wheel. The sound of sirens gets closer and closer until they're right outside my door. The smoke is still billowing from beneath the hood. 

Brian's voice echoes throughout my SUV. He sounds like he's in a tunnel. I grunt in response to his worried calls of 'Justin', but it doesn't stop him. I don't think that he can hear me. 

"Hey!"

I don't respond to the voice, just lay my head back down. It really, really hurts.

"Hey, kid."

I attempt to say, "I'm 20, which qualifies me as an adult, not a kid," but it comes out a little differently. "Nuhn."

There are loud noises pounding through my head and then the door disappears. It's like magic.

"Open your eyes." It's a command, but I don't want to obey. It comes again with more force and I can't help but ease them open. A bright light is shining in front of me when I comply, and on instinct, I turn my head.

"Head..." I manage to slur, then feel hands pulling me down and laying me out. There's a moment where I remember Brian's frantic calls and I panic with worry. "Bri...an"

I hear a patchy conversation, which doesn't mean anything to me. "Male...age 18 to...possible...trauma..." My head lulls from side to side trying to see what I can, but my eyes won't stay open. "BP 104 over...severe blo...lacerations."

I hear it all before I know what's happening.

 

*~*~ **Dr. Harber's POV** ~*~*

It's early morning, and I've barely slept, such is life in the ER. I work eighteen hour days, get less than three hours of sleep -any more than that and I'm sluggish for the remainder- and am paid less than forty grand a year. I've seen knife wounds, gun shot wounds, burns, breaks, and anything else imaginable to the human form. All of this and I'm barely thirty. 

"I'm getting far too old for this," I say aloud to no one in particular. The nurses look at me and snicker. "You don't believe me?"

"John, you're hardly old," one of the student interns assures me. I smile at her and remind myself not to get involved with a student, again. She pats me on the back as she passes me on her way to the lounge. "Care for a cup of coffee?"

I shake my head. "No, thank you." I turn to Jimmy, a tall, robust desk clerk. "Anything else for me?"

"There's an elderly lady in exam room three. She's complaining of chest pains and nausea." He hands me the file and I flip it open to read the contents. This is most likely an open and shut case, but I'll examine her to make sure that it's nothing more serious than a bout of heartburn. 

"Thanks, Jimmy." I smack the file against the base of my hand as I make my way down the hall.

"Harber!" Jimmy calls and I turn to see what he wants. The phone is propped against his ear by his shoulder and he's waving me back frantically. "EMT's have an MVA on the way."

"How long?"

"Two minutes--five tops." Jimmy takes the file from my hand and places it back on top of the nearby stack.

"Page Jenson," I tell him before the doors burst inward and the EMT's hurry in. I rush to the side and see that the victim's young. He couldn't be more than twenty and I'm not even sure about that. 

"What have we got?"

"Male, Caucasian, at a light when he was blind-sided. He has an altered LOC from head trauma, and became non-responsive while on the ride over." 

We get him into the trauma room and I immediately dress for the worst. If there's one thing I've learned during my time in this job, it's that nothing is certain. Nothing. 

"Okay, buddy." I whisper and say a silent prayer. There's a steady beeping from the machines he's hooked up to, but there's also significant blood loss from a laceration to the abdomen. "I need a Chem 7, CBC, and a blood gas. Is his blood pressure still low?"

One of my favorite nurses looks at me with a grave expression. "And dropping."

"He's in shock!" I tell the unit. "Start two large-bore IV's, normal saline, wide open. And give him another milligram of atropine." The nurses comply and I scramble on top, so that when they push him to the OR I can keep an eye on his wounds and on him. "We're not losing this one, people!" I order. 

Not if I have anything to say about it.


	2. Recovery

Author's Note: Thanks to you guys for the reviews and to my beta. Phobosgirl or Ms. Judi, she's great no matter what you know her by.

* * *

While I sit on the edge of my desk, phone in hand, my fingers curl around and grip the hard wood, knuckles white and tense. I manage to call his name one final time before the connection dies with an echoing click. The line stays dead against my ear until the next sound I hear is that of the computer-generated operator. 

_"If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try your call again."_

And I want to throw the phone, rip the cord from the wall, and see it smash into pieces. If only that would make me feel better, make the sounds disappear, and make Justin walk through the door. I push myself away from the desk at the same time that Cynthia peeks her head inside my office. 

"Brian," she says staring at the folder in her hands, "the conference room is all setup and ready forï¿½"

I interrupt her when I finally find my voice, "Cancel everything."

"Brian, what happened?" She's nervous, jittery, and her voice quakes with worry, "What's going on?"

I clear my throat as I slip my coat on over my suit. "There's been an accident. I've got to get to the hospital. I need you to call Jennifer and tell her to meet me there.ï¿½

"Justinï¿½" Cynthia whispers with a slight gasp. 

I leave her in my office, the papers fluttering to the ground, and her shoulders shaking. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

As I make my way to the hospital, I begin to think of the conversation. Did I push him too hard this morning? Was he speeding? And itï¿½s not the squealing tires, or the vacant silence that scares me the most. Yes, all of that does factor in, but the one thing that gets to me is the not knowing, not knowing what happened. Why it happened. Is he okay? 

I pull into the parking garage that I've learned to know so well and race inside. I know where I'm going, where to turn, whom to ask. I've done this before.

"I need information," I tell a clerk behind the Plexiglas. Sheï¿½s blonde, petite, young, and somewhat resembles Lindsay, but her attitude is apparent. She's scowling.

"What kind of information?" She rolls her eyes. 

I exhale loudly. "There was a young man in a car accident earlier and I need to know where he is, how heï¿½s doing. His name is Justin Taylor."

"Are you a family member?" She snaps her gum.

I shake my head. "He's my partner." 

She raises her head from the magazine she's looking at and takes in my appearance. "I'm sorry, but unless you're a family member..." She trails off before snapping her gum once more and returning to her article. 

Her reaction, or lack thereof, her callous indifference to suffering, makes me want to jump across the counter. Instead, I reach down and rip the magazine from her hands. "Listen, I don't care what you have to tell somebody, but I want answers to whatever question I ask."

She looks at me once again and snatches the magazine from my grasp. "I already told you that unless you're a family member, I couldn't help you."

"Brian!"

I turn and see Jennifer rushing down the hall towards me. I've never been this happy to see her. 

"This is his mother," I tell the girl as I point at Jennifer. She's now by my side and breathing heavily. She's wearing perfume and it wafts my way.

"What's going on?" she asks. "Where's my son?" 

The clerk looks at me and then back to Jennifer. She gets up and reaches for a file before sitting down again, flipping it open; she glances at a few of the pages before looking once more in our direction. "Your son was brought in after being in a car accident. He was stabilized and then taken to the OR. If you'll have a seat, the doctor will come and talk with you."

She points to a row of blue chairs against the far wall. I've sat here before with the same worries in my mind. I feel inside my breast pocket for the pack of cigarettes and contemplate going outside to have one. I know that I shouldn't, that Jennifer won't be able to be alone, but the need is there. And it's strong. 

Jennifer slumps against the wall with tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She doesn't ask any questions just stares straight ahead with a blank expression on her face. I think of the last time that I sat in those chairs doing just that; Mikey was here, and everybody else came later. I was alone for a while, though, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. That spot is still there.

"What happened, Brian?" Jennifer asks after awhile. I sat down and did nothing but wring my hands and wait. "How'd you know? Did they call you?"

I clear my throat and scrub a hand over my face, "No. I needed something from the loft. He was bringing it to me. It happened while we were talking." And I hear it again as I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. The squealing tires, his grunts mingled with rustling, then nothing but faint sirens, and finally silence. 

She sniffles and brings out a handkerchief. "Justin is a good driver." She says it adamantly and I know it to be true, I've seen it myself. 

I place my palm across her clasped hands and speak softly, "He's going to be okay, Jennifer. Justin's strong, we both know that, and he's a fighter; we know that, too. He'll fight his way through this." I squeeze her hands for emphasis. 

"Thanks, Brian." 

I give a quick nod and then lean back in the seat, my head against the wall, and wait for news of any sort.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Time passes slowly as Jennifer and I wait for word on Justin. I leave briefly to smoke and contemplate harassing the desk clerk until I get more information; when I return she hasn't moved. I ask her if she wants anything to drink, coffee or a soda, but she declines my offer. Any small talk that I manage to find dwindles quickly and we end up in awkward silence. 

I stand and am about to excuse myself once more when I notice a tall, George Clooney-esque, man walking our way. I resume my seat and hope that he's not like the many others that have passed us by with only a nod. He approaches the desk and leans over the divider. I can't hear what he's asking, but I see the bitch of a clerk point in our direction. 

"Mrs. Taylor?" The doctor asks as he pulls a chair in front of Jen. He offers his hand and she shakes it meagerly. "I'm Dr. John Harber."

I'm agitated from sitting here so long and could careless about pleasantries. "Cut to the chase, Doc."

He turns and looks at me, "Brian, I presume. Justin repeated your name so often in the ambulance that the EMT's assumed it to be his."

"That's nice." I say with a hint of mockery, "but it doesn't explain how he's doing."

The doc smiles and pats Jen's hand as he speaks, "Justin was unconscious when he arrived, he had a cut along his abdomen, a broken leg, head trauma, and bruised ribs from the blunt force of the airbag. We took him to the OR and repaired the damage to his abdomen. There are also a tremendous amount of cuts and bruises. Though the injuries he sustained were severe, we managed to get everything under control." 

"When can we see him?" Jen asks slightly dazed.

"He's in recovery. We'll get you up to see him as soon as possible." The doc stands, excuses himself, but I can tell there's something he's not telling us.

"Doc, wait." I catch up to him and place my hand on his shoulder. "Don't bullshit me, what is that you couldnï¿½t say back there?"

He sighs and looks over my shoulder at Jennifer, who's sitting patiently in her chair. "Justin has a history of suffering trauma to his brain; this latest bout only adds to the stress thatï¿½s already accumulated. There's no way of telling, right now, how this is going to affect him. He may be fine and come out of this with the same personality that he had before, or he may suffer mood swings, depression, among other behavioral changes," The doctor pauses and looks, once again, over my shoulder, "or he may not come out of it at all."

"Are you saying that Justin may not recover from this?"

"We have to be prepared for that possibility, yes."


	3. Recovery

Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews and to my beta for helping...I hope you like!!

* * *

Jennifer clutches tightly to my arm on the elevator ride to the ICU, as well as on the walk to Justin's room. She sniffles periodically and dabs at her eyes with a wadded handkerchief. I whisper soft words of encouragement to her and she nods her head in agreement. I know she's strong and will be able to handle this, but I wonder for how long.

It's a long walk to room 306, or maybe it just feels that way. Either way, I keep waiting for us to see door 305 and then 307, but the room we want is conveniently missing. It's not though, when we turn the corner the gray plaque bearing the numbers we need hangs on the wall.

Jennifer loosens her vice-like grip on my arm and allows her hands to fall slack at her sides. She takes a deep breath, an attempt to compose herself before she goes inside. She opens the door and it creaks slightly, takes one last deep breath, and then disappears inside. The door closes behind her with a strong click.

I watch through the tiny window in the door as Jennifer pulls a chair to the side of his bed. The metal grating imbedded in the glass focuses in and out as I watch Jennifer take Justin's limp hand in hers. I can't see his face, or chest because Jennifer's blocking the way. I can see his leg in a cast, hanging a few inches off the bed, supported by a white sling. The sheets and blankets cover the rest of him, so I can't exactly assess the situation. Jennifer's shoulders shake and heave with sighs, and it makes me feel bad for watching. So I don't.

The hallways are bare on this floor, no chairs to sit in like there is on the recovery and gynecological floors. I contemplate going up to one of them and snatching a chair to bring down here, but Jennifer might come out and think that I've flown the coop. It's been known to happen, so I wouldn't blame her.

I feel useless standing out here in the hall, but I know that I'd feel the same if I was on the other side of the door. I can't fix this and it kills me to admit it, but nothing that I say or do will change what happened.

My phone rings from the inside pocket of my blazer. I answer it on the second ring with an exasperated, "What?"

There's a pause, the sound of people in the background, and then a shaken voice comes on the line, "It's Cynthia."

Oh, shit! I forgot to call her, "Sorry, Cyn."

"It's okay, but Ted and I are wondering what's going on."

I lean against the wall and run a hand through my hair. "As it stands right now, Justin's in pretty bad shape, but Jennifer is in with him and I haven't gotten a chance to see anything for myself. They say he's in a coma, something about post-traumatic stress and the body's way of coping. You should close up shop," I instruct her. "Tell Theodore that he can call Emmett, I know he'd probably want to know, and I'll take care of everyone else. I'll call you when we know more about whatï¿½s going on."

"You won't need to," she says, "I'm coming to the hospital."

I explain to her that it isn't necessary, though I appreciate the sentiment, Justin's sleeping or whatever, and there's nothing that she can do for him.

"I know that, Brian," she says with a sigh. "But I wouldn't be there for him. I'd be there for you."

I don't really know what to say to that, so I just tell her to make sure she locks up when she leaves. I hang up the phone and check on Jennifer through the small window. She's sitting up straight in the chair, not weeping uncontrollably, so I decide to leave her be. I've got people to call and inevitably console.

The first person I call is Mikey. He'll always be the first on my list when Justin's not available. I dial his home number on the off chance he's not at 'Red Cape', but the machine picks up.

_"Hi! You've reached the Novotny-Buckner's. If you have a message for Ben, Michael, or Hunter, please leave it after the beep."_

It's familial and wholesome and cliche, everything Michael is now. Everything that I told myself I'd never become, and then I remember when Justin moved into the loft. He'd finally gotten around to gathering all of his stuff from Daphne's, or Deb's, or his mother's and lugged it back to the loft. It took forever.

_"I live here too, Brian, in case you've forgotten," He argued emphatically._

_"How could I forget?" I threw back. "You've taken over everything. The only thing I have left is my answering machine."_

_Justin rolled his eyes and looked down at the black machine. "You really need to stop acting like a four year old. I mean even Gus knows how to share."_

_"I have 'shared'," I mocked him. "I've shared my dresser, my bathroom, my BED."_

_"Who haven't you shared that with?" Justin scoffed. Then he mumbled something under his breath that I couldn't quite make out, but sounded oddly close to 'Melanie'._

_"I'm just pointing out that I have shared things with you."_

_"And I appreciate that," Justin said as he reached over to rub my arm. "But I live here now, too."_

_"You mentioned that once or twice," I interrupted._

_He ignored me and kept right on talking. He usually does most of the talking anyway. He's better at it._

_"And how are people going to know that when all it says is, 'I'm busy. You know what to do.' Huh?"_

_His voice deepened upon delivery and I couldn't help but smile. It only made him more angry though._

_"Fine!" He cried while he threw his arms in the air and walked to the couch. "I give up. You can keep your stupid little message."_

_I'll never forget his face the first time he heard the greeting on the machine. It was maybe a week after his drama princess moment and we were occupied in the bedroom, not quite to fucking but well on our way._

_He was panting heavily, running his hands across my back, nails against my skin, and lidded eyes following my every movement. When the phone rang he reached for it, but I grabbed his wrists and held them above his head. They were pinned between my hands and the wall._

_"The machine will get it," I whispered between licks and nips across his torso._

_He responded with a grunt and moan._

_It rang two or three times before the machine picked up._

_"Justin and I are otherwise occupied. You know the drill."_

_I continued on down his stomach, a lick every now and again along his hipbones. He stopped moaning and writhing below me, and when I looked up at him, a devilish grin plastered on my face, his eyes were a little more glossy than usual._

_"You shit!" He cried before grabbing my arms and pulling me towards him so that he could devour my lips with his._

_I clear my thoughts with a firm shake of my head and dial the number for the comic book store._

_"Red Cape Comics," a teenage voice answers._

_"Hunter, it's Brian," I say after clearing my throat. "I need to talk to Michael."_

_"Why talk to him when you can talk to me?" He asks with too much innuendo from a guy with a steady girlfriend._

_I grit my teeth, "It's important."_

_"Fine." I hear him call for Michael and then the phone rustles. There are faint voices, but nothing I can make out._

_"Hey, Brian!" Michael says jovially. "I was just going to call you. Ben and I returned JR to Mel and Linds, and I wanted to see if you and Justin were up for a drink at Woody's tonight."_

_"Mikey," I start, but he jumps in._

_"I know Justin has school tomorrow and you have Kinnetik, but it'll just be one drink. We haven't seen each other in so long."_

_I scrub a hand over my face, "I'm at the hospital, Mikey."_

_He gasps and then asks questions quickly, "Are you okay? What are you there for? Should I come?"_

_"I'm okay," I interrupt, "but Justin isn't."_

_"Oh," he says with a light sigh of relief. "What happened?"_

_"Drunk driver, I assume."_

_"Shit! How bad?"_

_I hear voices in the background, probably Hunter, asking what's going on. Mikey covers the phone and I hear a muffled voice telling him to call Ben on his cell. The door next to Justinï¿½s opens and a young man emerges. He's got dark hair and sad eyes. His shirt is wrinkled and half tucked. Our eyes meet and the look on his face is one of camaraderie. He nods his head at me, which I return, and then exits down the hall._

_"Brian?" I hear Mikey call. "Brian, how bad?"_

_"Pretty bad," I tell him with a sigh. "Can you just...hurry?"_

_"Yeah, yeah," He says without hesitation. "I'm going to talk to Ben and we'll be there soon."_

_I give him the room number with instructions to call me if he has problems._

_"Hold tight," he says before hanging up._

_Next on my list are Deb and Carl. I'm assuming he doesn't already know or Deb would've been here by now. The number for the diner is programmed into my mobile, and when I call, Cocoa, or Kiki, or whoever answers. I tell her that I need to speak to Deb and that it's important._

_"Hey, kiddo," she says in that falsetto voice, "I don't think you've ever called here to talk to me, what's up?"_

_I take a deep breath, "Justin's been in an accident. I'm at the hospital with Jen."_

_"No, no," she whispers almost inaudibly, "not Sunshine."_

_"I called Michael just before you and he's going to call Ben. I just thought you should know."_

_"Thanks, honey," Deb says softly and I think she's too stunned to say anything else, and I really don't know what to say, so I tell her goodbye and close my phone. I'm sure she'll be able to get the information from Michael, or Emmett, or a number of other people._

_Justin's door creaks open beside me and Jennifer walks out. She's got the rumpled handkerchief still clutched tightly in her hand, but looks like she's given up on using it. Her eyes are red and a bit puffy, tears still flowing freely down her cheeks, and I don't know what to ask. I don't know a lot of stuff lately._

_She clears her throat, "You can go in." She motions towards the door._

_"I have one more call to make," I tell her, "I just wanna make sure that I've done everything I need to do."_

_She nods her head, "I understand."_

_She turns to go back inside and I take a deep breath knowing that this last call is going to take a lot of strength. Not only do both Mel and Linds care for Justin, but Gus fucking adores him. I don't want to unnecessarily scare him, but they need to know._

_"Brianï¿½" Jen says from the door._

_I look at her and simply say, "Your welcome."_

_She smiles faintly and goes inside to be with Justin. I want to be in there with him and with her, but I also want to give him my full attention. God knows that I've never truly done that. So, I open my cell for one last call._

_"Lindsay," I say when I hear her cheery voice on the other end, "its Brian. I'm at the hospital."_

_"Are you okay?"_

_I nod though I know she can't see it, "I'm fine, healthy and all that, but..." And I don't know why I can't get it out this one last time. Maybe it's really sinking in, after saying it all those other times, maybe now is when I'm really realizing the extent of everything._

_Lindsay's worried and I know she's calculating the amount of time it'll take her to get to Gus and then to the hospital. "But what, Bri?"_

_"But Justin's not. He was in a car accident."_

_"I'll be there soon." She doesn't ask any questions, just volunteers herself and her time._

_"No, no," I say to stop her from hanging up and rushing over. "The thing is he's in a coma and there are cuts and bruises. I don't want to frighten Gus. Plus, I've already called Debbie, and Michael's coming. I don't want it to be a circus around here."_

_"I understand, Bri," she says, "you need to concentrate on him. I'll call Melanie for you and maybe Gus and I will stop by later after everyone else has left. I could bring you something to eat, if you'd like. Or stop by the loft and get you something to wear tomorrow perhaps."_

_"Sounds great."_

_"We'll do that then," Lindsay says with an awkward goodbye and a, "take care of yourself."_

_I close my cell and slide it into the inside pocket of my jacket. Ted, Cynthia, Michael and whoever else, they'll all be here soon and I want some time with Justin before then. I open the door to Justin's room and Jen turns around in the chair to smile at me. She's holding his hand, stroking the top with her thumb, and she's still crying. That's to be expected. She gestures across from her and there's another chair for me to sit in._

_"Have a seat," she whispers. "I'll go outside and wait for everyone."_

_I haven't moved from the door, too scared to walk inside, too scared to see him wrapped in bandages once again. I protest when she begins to move, "You don't have to."_

_"You need some time alone," Jen says, "with him and with your thoughts."_

_I do, so she leaves and I take her place at his bedside. He's got a bandage wrapped around his head and it's pure white. There are cuts along his forehead and one of his cheeks, but they won't scar. That'll make him happy. The blankets are covering his chest so I can't see anything under them. Plus, he's got that horrible hospital gown, but the doctor said that there was a lot of damage to him and I can only assume that he's got bandages wrapped all around him._

_"If you didn't want to bring the layouts," I say with a chuckle, "you just had to say so."_

_I reach over to the bed and slip my hand underneath his, close tightly, and place my other on top. I feel the sting in my eyes, that ball in my throat, and I fight to suppress them. His breathing is even, in and out, in and out. The constant beeping of the machines fills the silence and my head._

_"I called everybody and they'll be here soon," I clear my throat, "so be prepared for that. I don't know if you'd laugh or cry if you saw me right now. Brian Kinney, sitting bedside, and holding his lover's hand."_

_I pause to take a deep breath, "Your doctor's hot. I bet your mother didn't tell you that. He says that you might not wake up, but he doesn't know you all that well. Jesus, look how long you stalked me, and if you can break me down then you can beat a coma."_

_I hear voices outside and know that somebody's here. The door creaks open and Jen sticks her head in, "Cynthia and Ted are here."_

_"So it begins," I say after Jen's closed the door. I lean down and give Justin a soft kiss to his forehead before going outside to greet the masses.  
_


	4. Recovery

Author's Note: Thanks for bearing with me guys, and I'll be sure to have five up here waaay sooner. My beta is awesome!

* * *

Ben and Michael arrive not too long after Ted and Cynthia. Michael rushes down the hall to my side with an eager hug and kind words. He's wearing a black t-shirt with a photo of Rage on the front. I think he made it himself. Ben pats me on the back with a strong arm and says he's glad to see I'm holding up well, whatever that means. I want to tell him I'm fine, that it's Justin laying in that bed attached to those machines, but I just nod and mumble a thank you. 

Jen is leaning against the wall, talking quietly with Theodore, Ben, and Cynthia when Deb and Carl arrive. They round the corner, not saying a word, and I can tell that Deb's frazzled and a bit distraught. She's been crying, too. The streaks are visible on her face. Carl approaches me with apologies and promises to catch who did this, and to make sure they are taken care of. I force a smile on my face and respond in a courteous manner.

Periodically, I break away from the group to look in on Justin. He's in the same position every time, and I wonder if that means anything. At one point I'm standing outside the door, peering in through the tiny window, watching Justin lie helpless, and I let out a sigh. 

"He was in a coma for two weeks last time, remember?" Mikey reminds me, not having left my side the entire time. 

"That long, huh?" I respond.

"What did the doctor really say?"

He's looking at me with scrunched eyebrows and concern. I grunt, "That he may not wake up."

"Then, there's a chance that he will," Mikey says plainly.

"Ever the optimist, Mikey."

His lips twist into a smile that really might be a grimace, "Somebody has to counteract your cynicism."

We stand in silence after that. My right arm is slung over his shoulder and his head is resting on mine. It's nice to have him here to lean on, figuratively and literally.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Emmett calls twice with condolences and apologizes that he can't make it for another hour or so. He's in the middle of a wedding and can't get away. I tell him that it's fine and too crowded here anyway. I hang up after he promises, for a third time, to get here as soon as possible.

There's another lull in conversation during which I'm able to slip away and check on Justin through the window. A lamp, that Jen must have turned on, glows brightly beside his bed. The sky darkened; I hadn't noticed. We've been here a lot longer than I thought.

Time flies when you're having fun.

I glance left and then right, but nobody's paying me any attention. I open the door and slip inside, watching him closely for any movement. The light casts an eerie shadow across his pale skin. 

I move to sit in the chair that Jen was in before, grip the bottom, and pull it closer to the bed. At first I just sit and watch him, and listen to the soft beeps and slow breaths that fill the room. He's had a lot of visitors today and I wonder if he knows that. I assume that he doesn't, but I'll pretend that he does. 

"Everybody sends their love," I tell him while slipping my hand beneath his, "but they probably told you that when they came in."

More soft beeps fill the silence.

"Lindsay will be here soon, and I'm sure Gus will be with her, but I don't know if I'll let him in. He may not understand."

I tell him that I don't want Gus to be startled by what he sees, that Debbie's really worried, and then I whisper that I am, too. 

"It's not something to be ashamed of."

I jump slightly at the intrusion and look behind me. It's the first thing that Deb has said since she got here.

"What's that?" I ask turning back to Justin. Is there ever a time when I can just be alone?

She comes up behind me and places a hand on either shoulder. The numerous bracelets that adorn her wrists clang together and almost drown out what she says. Almost.

"That you're scared and worried about him. You shouldn't be ashamed that you care about somebody other than yourself," she pauses and her voice lowers. "Hell, you should scream it from the rooftops."

"I prefer the not-so-obvious approach to things."

She scoffs and squeezes my shoulders in that motherly way. Her hands never leave my shoulders as we watch him. 

*~*~*~*~*~*

After the nurses sweep through and usher the stragglers outside, stating that visiting hours are over, I escape for a cigarette break. Jen nods her head when I tell her, never approving of the habit, and then turns back to Justin. 

I flick the lighter a few times as I walk out the doors onto the roof, and take a long drag before leaning against the brick building. It's not so quiet out here with the far off sounds of sirens, car horns, and various animal calls. It's better than inside though. There's fresh air and no machines. It's easier to think without the smell of ammonia or bleach filling your senses. 

I flick the cigarette away and it sends sparks of gold and amber in the air as it hits the gravel. I light another as I walk to the edge. I recall the night Gus was born and laugh at the thought of jumping off because of him. I would never have known him, seen him walk for the first time, heard him giggle, or any of the great things that are inevitably to come. I've actually become a decent dad in spite of myself. Justin helped with that.

"Bri?" Lindsay's voice comes from behind me and I turn towards her.

"Hey."

She's got a bag in her hand but no Gus. Her cream colored coat is slung over her arm and her hair is pulled back into a loose bun. It's obvious that she came here immediately after getting off of work. I'm thankful that Gus isn't here with his questions, but I would like to see him. 

"Melanie sends her wishes." 

I nod and walk towards her. "What's in the bag?"

She looks down and seems to realize for the first time that she's holding it. "Oh, it's the clothes I told you I'd get." She holds it out to me and I take it from her.

"Thanks," I say with a nod. I notice she's distant, nervous, agitated, and the reason why springs to mind. "You saw him?"

She nods. "I stopped in real quick. It's how I knew where you were."

I move the bag from one hand to the other before suggesting that we go back inside. Lindsay agrees and opens the door to the inside. We ride the elevator down to Justin's floor and just as it's about to open, Lindsay grabs my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. I give her a tight smile and squeeze back before dropping her hand and exiting the elevator. Her heels click a steady beat on the cement floor and I sense a bit of deja vu. 

_Justin and I were making a hurried entrance into the ornate building that was Gus' school. I brushed a hand through my hair to knock off most of the newly fallen snow and rain. Beside me Justin was lowering the umbrella he insisted on carrying everywhere, which happened to come in handy today. When we looked up we were met with a very pissed off, blonde, lesbian mother. Lindsay stood straight, arms crossed, and foot tapping in frustration. The toe of her shoe echoed in the empty hallway as she tapped._

_"Where have you two been?" she asked after we'd sufficiently dried off. "The play is going to start any second and you two are strolling in like you're early."_

_Justin laughed and patted Lindsay on the arm. "The roads were a bit icy, but we made it and that's all that matters. Come on." He grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the auditorium._

_Lindsay led us down the right aisle and to the middle of the third row. Melanie was sitting amongst the empty seats with a sleeping J.R in her arms. She scowled at me when I sat down, but gave Justin a slight wave and smile. I shrugged off my jacket and laid it across the back of the seat, Justin did the same, and we took our seats._

_The overhead lights dimmed and the spotlight illuminated the stage. Gus' kindergarten class filed on stage, and Gus waved exuberantly when he saw us in the audience. I smiled back and caught Justin waving out of the corner of my eye. When all the kids were on the stage the teacher came out and introduced them and welcomed us to the 'Annual Christmas Extravaganza'._

_After bearing through a few songs and a recitation or two, Gus finally took center stage. Justin straightened next to me and leaned forward trying to catch everything my boy said. They had spent weeks in the loft and at the muncher's practicing and memorizing Gus' lines. As Gus spoke, Justin mouthed the words along with him._

_"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirrin', not even a mouse; the stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there," he took a big breath and continued on._

_"The children were nestled all snug in their beds,...um..." Gus paused._

_Justin moved in his seat, silently urging Gus to go on. I looked back at the stage where Gus was standing saying the words to himself, looking back at his fellow students, and trying to think of the next line. When he smiled and looked out at the audience, he put a hand at the corner of his mouth, and said in a loud whisper, "Jus'in, what am I s'posed to say next?"_

_Justin, who was laughing and blushing slightly, whispered back, "While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads."_

_"Oh, yeah!" Gus exclaimed._

_I leaned over as Gus finished his speech and whispered in Justin's ear, "Nice save, Sunshine."_

_He smiled back and gave a slight shrug._

Lindsay taps me on the arm. I clear my throat as the smell of ammonia clouds my senses, and brings me back to the now. She looks at me intently, a mixture of concern and curiosity as she asks what I'm thinking about.

"Just thinking."


	5. Recovery

Daphne brought Molly to the hospital on the second day. They both had dark circles under their eyes, and Molly's pigtails were a bit droopy and lopsided. I stood next to Daphne and watched a crying Molly talk gently to her older brother. I spoke with Daphne about her classes, asked if she could afford to miss them. She looked at me and then back at Justin before responding she had told her teachers that her grandmother had died. It was the only way they'd allow her to make up her work.

Before the girls left, Jen pulled Daphne aside and thanked her again for watching Molly. Daphne brushed her off by saying that it was the least she could do, and Molly really wasn't all that hard to take care of. When I jumped in and tried to offer Daphne money for anything she might need, she refused. I slipped a fifty in her coat pocket before she left. She'll find it, eventually.

On the third day, I told Jennifer to go home. She protested, stating that she needed to be here for Justin. I reminded her that she needed to be there for Molly, too. That Daphne needed a reprieve and a chance to be with her best friend without a sidekick around. Finally, she conceded and packed her belongings.

It was the first time I had been alone with Justin since this whole thing began.

When the weekend came, and Justin had yet to open his eyes, Mikey encouraged me to go back to work. I told him that Theodore and Cynthia were there and that my company was in good hands. He pressed on, saying that I needed to handle meetings, and make decisions that they didn't have the authority to make.

"It's your company, after all," he said.

I nodded. " _My company_ , Mikey; it's Kinnetik, not Novotnik." It wasn't creative, but it got my point across.

He left me alone after that.

Last night, I went to Woody's. I had two days of stubble and was wearing a white tank top and jeans, but I was there nonetheless. I sat on a stool at the bar and downed shot after shot. The bartender knew who I was, knew my MO, and called a cab when I sloppily slid off the stool.

I woke up in the loft with a pounding headache and very little recollection of what had transpired the night before. I had no car and no cash on hand to get a cab. It was too far to walk to Woody's to collect my vehicle, and no ATMs on the way, so I called the only person I knew who had nothing better to do on a Sunday.

"I need a ride," I told him and he asked why. "Why doesn't matter--just get your ass in gear!"

I hopped in the shower, not wanting to smell like a brewery when Michael arrived. He was prone to lectures and I didn't need, or want, one. Quickly, I changed my clothes and sat on the couch to wait for my ride. Which is where he found me, a half empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, and worn sketchbook in the other.

When Michael opens the door to the loft, he probably doesn't expect to find me guzzling the rest of the liquor cabinet. In the time it took him to drive here, I had remembered the reason I had gotten so drunk last night. That, combined with everything Justin ever owned being in the loft, set me off.

I hear his footsteps on the wood floor as he walks over to the couch where I'm sitting.

I hold the sketchbook up to Mikey; it's open to a drawing of me looking out one of the windows in the loft. "Did you know he wanted to be an animator?" I drunkenly ask Mikey.

He nods. "Yeah, I did."

I stand up with a slight sway, but Mikey catches me. "I bought him sketch books a lot, Mikey. He didn't understand why because he couldn't control his hand for more than. . . fifteen minutes, tops."

"What are you doing home, Brian? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?" Mikey asks but I ignore him and take a swig.

"I knew that one day he'd get it back. I knew." That day has yet to come, but I know it will.

Mikey shakes his head disapprovingly and reaches out to take the bottle. I step back with a slight jerk, but manage to keep my balance.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks. "Why get shit drunk when you should be with Justin?"

"I've spent enough time at the hospital," I yell and then lower my voice. "There's nothing I can do for him."

Michael scoffs, "I've heard that before. It was shit then and it's shit now."

"It's not shit!" I yell and throw the bottle of Beam to the floor. It shatters and sends liquor across the floor; some of it winds up at my feet. It's cold.

"Jesus, Bri."

I stumble over the shards of glass, mindful of my footing, toward the kitchen where I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I twist the cap and take a swig. It doesn't burn the way whiskey does, but after enough swigs even that loses its effect.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck has gotten into you?" Mikey asks as he follows me.

"Nothing has gotten into me," I mock him. I won't tell him how I'm the cause of this. If it weren't for my presentation, and me Justin would be here laughing, smiling, drawing.

"He's your partner, Brian!" Mikey berates and I shake my head.

"I was never cut out to be a partner, Mikey."

"Justin thinks so," he whispers.

I look at my supposed best friend and say with a sneer, "Justin may never wake up."

Michael walks around the counter, tapping the wood with his index finger as he goes. "So that's it," he says with a derisive tone.

"What's 'it?'"

"You're scared." He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "You're scared so you're going to give up."

"You can't give up something that's not here."

"Jesus!" Mikey cries and throws his hands in the air. He lowers his voice and grits his teeth, "You don't deserve him."

I snap my head up. "Excuse me?"

"I said you don't deserve him. Justin would never have given up on you! Never! When you pushed him away during the first stage of your cancer treatment, he didn't give up on you. He pushed you right back."

I can feel the heat in my cheeks, my fists clenching and unclenching at my side, and I know there's no turning back. "Justin wasn't told that I had one day left to respond to treatment."

"And you're going to believe that?"

I shrug, "What else do I have to believe?"

"How about Justin? He's beaten this before." Michael raises an eyebrow in question, "D'ya ever think of that?"

"All the time." I try my best not to, but the thought always sneaks into my head, catching me off guard.


	6. Recovery

After I calm down a bit, Michael puts me to bed so that I can sleep off the effects of my binge. He says he'll wait until I wake up, watch television or something, and then take me to the hospital. He places a glass of water by the bed and then leaves the room to call the professor.

"Brian's going through. . .something right now," Michael says slightly above a whisper. "Yeah, I'm going to stay here. He needs me, Ben."

"No, I don't!" I call out.

"Shut up, Brian! Yes, you do." The rest of the conversation is a bit muffled, but I hear an 'I love you, too' before I drift off to sleep.

_There's nothing but black around me and for a moment I think I'm back home with Joanie and Jack, nine years old and afraid of the dark. Then Justin appears in front of me, as if out of nowhere, wearing a pair of blue jeans and an Old Navy sweatshirt. I thought I had thrown of all those out. It's the same Justin, a bit paler maybe, but who can tell with him? He lifts his hand to sweep a lock of hair from his face, and his sleeve slips down to reveal the hospital's ID bracelet on his wrist._

_"Feeling better?" I ask and he nods his head._

_"Much." His voice is fogged, like he's talking under water. "I don't blame you," he says moving closer._

_My bravado is apparent, "I didn't expect that you would."_

_He grins and chuckles. "Liar."_

_"Well, maybe there was a part of me," I say._

_Justin moves along an imaginary path, and I have to rotate to see him. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks me up and down. For once, I feel like the prey instead of the predator. It's unnerving._

_"We've had a lot of good times, haven't we?"_

_I purse my lips. "I'd say we have, yeah."_

_"Remember that time we took Gus to preschool?" he asks. "It was the first time without Lindz or Mel with him."_

_I do, but I don't know why he's asking. "Yeah, so?"_

_He moves again and I spin to keep eye contact. When Justin finally stops walking, we're in the loft, and he's leaning against one of the beams. "Gus wouldn't stop talking from the moment we picked him up at the diner until we got to the school. He kept saying how excited he was to see his friends and his teacher. I think he has a crush on her."_

_I raise an eyebrow. "Don't count your chickens, Sunshine."_

_"When we got out of the car and walked up to the door he suddenly changed his mind. He was scared and didn't want you to leave him. He cried, remember?"_

_I nod. It was hard to walk away from him that day._

_"I'm not scared," Justin says with a lazy smirk. "S'all I meant." He looks to his right and then back at me. "You gonna answer that?"_

"Brian! Answer your fucking phone."

I grope around the nightstand until I feel the cool metal. "'Lo?"

I hear Jennifer's voice on the other end and she's trying to tell me something. I ask her to repeat it and she does with a giddy, excited, airy tone. "He's awake."


	7. Recovery

Chapter 7

Justin's sleeping by the time Michael and I round the corner of the hospital hallway. Jen's standing outside his room, the door slightly ajar, talking to a tall older man with white hair in a pristine lab coat. He's got a clipboard in one hand and is gesturing at the clipboard and then Justin's room with the other. Though her back is facing us, I can tell that Jen is extremely agitated and tense. Her left arm is stretched across her chest while her chin rests on the thumb of her right hand. She nods every now and again at whatever it is doctor is saying. 

When Michael and I reach her, I place a shaking hand on her shoulder, and she jumps slightly at the intrusion. Then she introduces us to the man in the white coat. His name is Dr. Henry Atwell; he's a specialist in blunt force trauma to the brain, and was brought in to examine Justin. Dr. Atwell says that he's going to need more time with Justin before he can give us a definitive answer on whether there will be any long-term complications.

Jennifer tries to fill Michael and I in on what's been happening since Justin awoke, but lethargy combined with stress makes her cry easily; it's hard to understand what she's trying to say. In between sighs and gasps for air, Jennifer tells us that when he woke up he didn't say anything right away. He looked around for a while and that she was so happy to see the baby blues again that she completely forgot her words. It wasn't until he looked at her all wide eyes and mussed hair did she think to ask him if he needed anything. He said he was thirsty and wanted some water, then fell asleep after the ice chips Jen gave him melted. 

When she's finished speaking I ask if I can sit with him. Jen nods her head, says that she needs to call Daphne and Molly to fill them in, and would Michael please call everyone else to tell them the good news. She says it without a smile and I wonder if it really is good news to her then I feel bad for doubting. Jen's been here, slept here, eaten here for as long as Justin's been sleeping, and she'll continue to sleep, eat, and be here for as long as it takes. Unlike Craig who hasn't even bothered to call and check on his first born. 

Jen walks down the hall and Mikey gives me one last look before I open the door to Justin's room. Everything in here is the same as before. The same chairs, lamp, table, bed, and I don't know what made me think it'd all change once he opened those eyes, but I did.

Foolish.

I grab my trusty chair and pull it alongside his bed. There's a pitcher of water and a yellow plastic cup on his bedside table. I pour some more water into the glass and wait for him to wake up. I contemplate flicking water droplets at him, but as much as I need to see for myself that he is alive, he needs to rest. 

He's been resting for a week, damnit. 

It's only when my eyes aren't trained on him, watching his every movement, waiting for him to stir, does he awaken. It's slow and almost as though he's not sure where he is. He doesn't make a single sound save for the rustling of his bed sheets. These are not 800 thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets; these are cheap polyester knock-offs that dream of being 800 thread count. He's smiling when I look at him, and I smile back.

"Hey," he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

I place a finger over my lips and hush him. "Don't talk."

He scoots his weakened arm across the bed and over my hand. We're barely touching, but I get chills like the first night. "You're here, like, really here."

I smile and give his hand a light squeeze. "Where else would I be?" I try not to think about the fact that he woke up when I wasn't around. . . when I had left him to deal with my own pain and anger and frustration. 

"Thought it was a dream," he says and that makes me remember mine.

"Not a dream."

He keeps blinking rapidly and I wonder if he has something in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"S'fine," he assures me. "Just a side effect the doctor said."

I look at him quizzically. "What's a side effect?"

"The fuzzy vision. I'm sure my mom told you." He's getting tired and rolls his head to the side away from the light and shuts his eyes.

"Yeah," I tell him even though it's not true. "She told me. Go back to sleep."

When he's settled again, eyes closed, and breathing even, I quietly exit the room. Michael's in the hall waiting but Jennifer's not anywhere close by.

"Where's Jennifer?" I ask Michael once the door's shut tightly. "Where'd she go?"

He gives me a quick smile and points down the hall. "The 'cell phone friendly area' is around the corner. She's talking to Molly. How is he?"

"Tired."

"Everyone knows. I couldn't get a hold of Lindsay, but Mel said that she'd tell her the first chance she got. He's really going to be okay?"

"Depends on your definition, I guess."

I brush Michael off and move down the hallway in the direction that he pointed. I need to talk to Jennifer, find out what she didn't tell me, and get some answers. When I reach an area lined with blue chairs and a vending machine stuck in the corner, I know I'm in the right place. Jennifer's sitting in one of the chairs with the phone to her ear and she's smiling. 

"Jen?"

"Hold on a minute," she says into the phone. "What is it, Brian?"

I tell her to hang up that we need to talk about a few things, and then she can call Molly back. "It's important," I say.

She looks at me concerned and finishes her conversation. "Everything alright?"

"No, everything's not alright." 

"Is it Justin?" Her tone is one of panic. "Is he hurting?" 

"No. It's not that." I realize that I've scared her, which I didn't intend to do, but I want answers. "Why didn't you tell me that he has 'fuzzy vision?'"

"Oh, that."

"Yeah," I say. "That."

She pats the seat next to her and I take it, but I'm still angry. "It's a side effect from the air bag, and it's only in one eye. The doctor likened it to looking through two sheets of wax paper, and he says it's not permanent. Justin knows that, but he was scared at first. I didn't want you running in there and freaking him out."

"What's it from?" I ask not bothering to say that I wouldn't have done that. "What caused it?"

"It's a blister on his cornea. . .any blunt object to the eye can cause it to occur. He can see colors, he can see shapes, but distinguishing what they are isn't possible. They say it should clear up."

"Should?" I laugh. "When? And who the fuck are 'they?'" 

"They don't know," she answers in a whisper. "A week, six months, two years. . . nothing is definite except that it's not permanent."

"Two years is fucking permanent, Jen!"

Jen sighs exasperatedly. "I agree that two years seems like a long time, Brian, but there's a big difference between two years and forever."

"Anything else I should know about?"

"Nothing else is this obvious," she says with a twinge of grief and possibly regret. "The rest of it will take time. The extent of his injuries won't be known to us until he's out in the world."

* * *

Author's Note: Everything that Justin is going through with his vision, I went through after getting hit with a softball in my right eye. Yes, I went sorta blind. Yes, it lasted awhile, and yes, that's what the doctors told me too. Though mine only lasted six months and then corrected itself, I was still quite accustom to what i was going through. So, I didn't make it up and just wanted you guys to know that.


	8. Recovery

I was about fourteen when I joined Art Club. It was to my mother's joy and my father's chagrin that I found myself in the hard, orange chair after school. I still remember our supervisor, Mr. Hildall, standing in front of us that day. He spoke with a booming voice that reverberated off the white, brick walls.

_"Welcome, class," he greeted with a wide smile and open arms. "I want to thank some of you for coming back after the summer, but most of you are new and didn't know any better."_

_He looked around at the chuckling students in front of him before moving a long. "I always start the year off with the same question, so I only want answers from the newbies," Mr. Hildall said with a smile and a clasp of his hands. He turned and pulled the cord for the projector screen causing it to roll up with a snap. Written on the white board, in blue erasable marker was a simple question._

__

**What are an artist's most important tools?**

Murmurings of answers could be heard amongst the students. It was clear that nobody knew the answer except for those that had been here in earlier years. They continued to sit in the front of the class and laugh quietly at our stupidity.

 _"Their brushes," a redheaded boy answered in the front,_ I think his name was McCormack.

_Mr. Hildall didn't say anything as answers were tossed around. A brunette girl behind me guessed 'canvas' followed by 'paints'. I didn't know the answer but I threw out 'his hands' as my guess._

_"Though those are all very good answers," Mr. Hildall said after awhile. "Some things are more important." He moved to sit on the edge of his old, wooden desk. We must have all had the same look on our faces because he sat for a moment to contemplate. "Even more important than paint brushes and canvases and, even hands, are the artist's eyes._

_"But without hands," I found myself blurting out, "how would the artist work?"_

_Mr. Hildall turned and looked at me, placed his hands in his lap before answering. "Without his eyes, Mr. Taylor, how would he see where to paint? How would he see what, or who, or when to paint?"_

_I opened my mouth to answer but found that I didn't have one. His questions were rhetorical anyhow._

_"Anybody can paint, or sketch, or mold clay," he said turning his attention once again to the class. "A monkey can hold a pencil, but an artist can see their work. A true artist sees beyond color and shape of what is and envisions what can be."_

_He paused for affect, letting us all grasp what he was saying, and then continued. "And that is why, class, one must not work solely with their hands, but also with their eyes."_

I never thought about that day again, opting instead to store it away amongst the forgotten friends, and misplaced nostalgia. Then I woke up from a coma to hear that I have a 'kinda-sorta-maybe-permanent' eye injury. It makes a person think and that's what I thought of.

Brian's been trying to help, be supportive, and all that. He stays all night and all day, opting to forgo work to be keep me company, but he doesn't realize things aren't the same. Which is what I've led him to believe. A well-placed smile and a sunny disposition can get you far in this world, believe you me.

Right now, half of everything I look at is a literal blur. How am I supposed to work that way? Fuck my chest pains, my broken leg, and my concussion! I have a job to do and school! I need my eyes to write, to draw, and to watch Gus play T-ball, and having only one can never be enough. 

Never! 

In the corner chair, Brian stirs. His jacket slides off when he checks his watch and it takes a moment for him to adjust it. "It's two in the morning, Justin," he says with a voice thick with sleep. 

"I know," you tell him pointing to the glowing red numbers on the bedside clock. "Couldn't sleep."

"You should try," he tells me as he moves to my side. "You need your rest."

"I've had enough," I say moving the blankets so that he can slide in. It's been too long since I've felt him against me, holding me, and making me feel safe.

"Justin . . ."

"I've had enough!" I bark but he doesn't recoil like I suspected he would. Only slides in close.

He turns and flicks off the lamp throwing the room into darkness. I wrap my arm around his waist, and pull him to me still mindful of my stitches. He nudges me with his nose before nuzzling my neck. "I'm sure you have," he whispers in my ear as his breathing evens signaling he's fallen asleep.


End file.
